


The Power Of The Snark

by justlovebt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Snark, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:45:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlovebt/pseuds/justlovebt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Regina wasn’t able to protect her heart with the thick wall she’d built around it so long ago? A new secret Operation leads to Regina’s inability to produce snarks. But without her usual sarcasm holding her together, falling apart seems the only thing left for the former Queen to do. Or is there something (or someone) who can help her mend the broken pieces that once were her heart? </p><p>SwanQueen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIAGR32! As the winner of the 'Guess the title' competition in my first ever Once story 'Cursed' you won this story... Now I have to warn you all, its not quite finished. But I couldn't resist the urge to give you the prologue on your birthday, my friend! I do hope you will enjoy! (And thank you so much for the idea and the inspiration!)
> 
> Second: Happy sunday, Oncers! Can't wait for tonights episode... :D
> 
> Third: I hope you will all enjoy this little thing that drifted towards my mind thanks to a wonderful prompt filled conversation with Giagr32. Let me know what you think!

 

 

**The power of the snark.**

 

 

 

 

_Prologue:_

‘Miss Swan, if you would…’

Regina Mills cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes as the words rolled off her tongue.

‘Be so kind as to open the door for me?’

Her narrowed eyes now widened at the sound of her own voice, the kindness in them like a memory, long forgotten. Emma, who had already approached to help when she’d seen the former mayor struggle with the packages she had just picked up at the grocery-store, showed her a surprised but genuine smile.

‘Sure thing, Regina… Let me take those.’

She supposed it was the astonishment that made her loosen her grip, without the slightest hesitation and allow Emma Swan (of all people!) to pluck the paper bags from her hands.

_What the hell had just happened?_

The perfect snark had lain on her lips at the moments she had seen the savior’s intentions. It had combined the blonde’s father’s excessive need for chivalry and her mother’s excessive need for interference where not needed. She knew Emma, and she knew that, with her remark, she would have received assistance  _and_  kept her pride intact. It had been a stupid situation she had gotten herself in, hurrying out of the store when the glares had become too much.

‘Are you having a party?’

‘I hardly think anyone would arrive, dear…’

The tone… The disappointment that sounded through her voice was already excruciating, but the  _tone_. So innocent and naïve and… kind…

What was happening to her?

She wanted to add something sarcastic, something that would take the edge off the sadness and vulnerability, but when she opened her mouth to speak the words, something along the lines of: ‘Too afraid of poison, you see?’ she found them, yet again, stuck in her throat.

Whatever it was that had gotten a hold of her, maybe Emma had the same problem, because, instead of the usual edge, Regina could only find a kind compassion in those emerald eyes. And she could have sworn she heard the woman say ‘I would.’ under her breath.

The bags had been placed in her trunk, not in the organized and precise way Regina would have preferred, obviously, and the woman felt the corner of her mouth curl up.

It always came to her, she did not even have to fully form the snide remarks that were her trademark in her mind. She just conjured them from a place in her subconscious where they seemed always in stock, sensed how they connected with the situation and then felt them in the bottom of her heart before they found their way to their recipient.

She opened her mouth to free the sentence, something about skills and bag-boys and Emma’s education, already smirking in anticipation of the huffed response she would receive.

‘Thank you.’

_What the hell????_

She had to give it to the Sheriff, the woman recovered quickly. When she had pulled her jaw up from the floor (another remark Regina found herself unable to utter) that awful, genuine, terrible, gorgeous smile adorned the pink lips once more.

‘Any time…’

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she slid into the Mercedes. She fidgeted with the key and was absolutely horrified that her trembling hands seemed to have trouble finding the ignition. Because she felt the comment bubble up in her chest and tried with all her might to suppress it. She sighed, relieved, when the key finally slid into their place and she could start the car.

Emma had already start to walk away and it would have been so easy to just put her black steed into gear and let it carry her home as it had so many times before. But her fingers had already found the means to open the window, the words, carried by the wind reaching the blonde.

‘You have a lovely smile.’

She had always known her Mercedes had an amazing acceleration speed. She just had never tried it.

Until now.

***

 

_Earlier that week:_

‘But… I just don’t get it. She said she was going to change.’

Henry’s face was scrunched up in concentration, his young eyes hopefully looking up at his blonde mother, as if she could help him make sense out of the situation.

Emma sighed, feeling the urge to explain but also the fear of not being able to find the right word. The phone call had not supposed to have been overheard, least of all by her son. But then again she should have known that putting the thing on speaker while she got ready for her day was not a good idea. Henry had her genes after all and he had (surprise, surprise!) been eavesdropping.

So he had heard Regina’s (not too kind) remarks on Emma’s care for Henry, the lack of home-cooked meals and proper home-work guidance. And, after she had hung up, she had found him, tears on his cheeks, outside her room.

‘Listen kid, it’s complicated…’

He looked at her with a face that said: “you always say that.” And she knew, this time, it wouldn’t be so easy.

‘Sometimes people, adults… Sometimes we say things we don’t really mean…’

‘You mean you lie?’

‘Well, sort of… It’s more. Your mom, when she’s hurt, she doesn’t like it when people see her like that, you know… Vulnerable and stuff…

God this was hard! The boy looked at her pensively.

‘When she says those things, she is hurt?’

‘Your mom, kid, Sometimes I feel…’

She looked as his expectant face looking up at her and sighed, deciding on another angle.

`Do you remember when Pongo had that thorn in his paw?’

Henry nodded, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

‘When he almost bit Archie when he was trying to get it out?’

‘Yes. Do you remember how he growled at you when you tried to get close?’

He nodded again, pensively, and looked so much like Regina at that moment, Emma needed a second to catch her breath.

‘But that was because he was in pain.’

Now it was Emma’s turn to nod, her lips curling up in a sad smile.

‘Well, kid, I think your mom is in constant pain.’

He glanced at his hands, confused, and she only had genetics to blame for the fact that she had instantly understood him. She knew he would get there in the end, he was a smart kid after all, but decided to help him anyway. Her words sounded hoarse when she spoke them, as if she hadn’t used her voice in weeks.

‘But with her, the thorn is here…’

Placing her hand over his heart, she saw the understanding flash in his eyes, before she felt his small hand join hers. Biting her lip, she averted her eyes, surprised at the amount of emotion that rushed through her.

Enough with this…

‘So, kid, how about some cocoa?’

‘Cool!’

She turned, glad to give her hands something to do. She didn’t notice how her son’s hand kept resting on his sternum, hovering his heart. And missed the determent flame that had started flickering in his hazel eyes.

 

TBC

 

 


	2. Operation Tweezers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confused Emma Swan entering her house and demanding answers is not something Regina Mills is unfamiliar with. But will she be able to handle it without her usual snarky defense?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive been getting a lot of requests to continue this (magic balm for the muse, those kind reviews and kudo's! Thank you so much!) I think this story will be around 5 chapters long, if it doesnt run away with me again ;) Hope you will enjoy the update. A little more angst this time around (Remember, Regina's defenses are down!)

 

**Chapter 1:**

'Emma, what a nice surprise!'

_Oh for the sake of Hell!_

Without the tone she had perfected in many years bending to her will, the sentence had come out genuine… Not at all how Regina had meant it, of course.

Right?

The emerald eyes before hers lit up and the woman smiled that smile again. The smile that had made her utter those unbidden words before. The smile that did something strange to the pit of her stomach.

'Do you want to…'

_Great, now she KNEW for a fact she was going crazy._

The insecure but inviting gesture she made, went against every law Regina's body naturally abided to, and she felt her muscles strain to fight the movement.

Surprise again flickered in the green, but the woman stepped passed her, without even a moment of doubt. It must be nice, Regina thought, to carry one's confidence with such ease. For her, it had always been a struggle, until the moment she had found the habit so engraved, the groove so deep, there was no other way to stand, to speak. No way to not come across as if she did not have a care in the world.

The price she paid for that, however, the loneliness that chilled her, the hatred and loathing of those at the receiving end of her harsh attitude, was not one she saw, now, pressed on the Sheriff's shoulders.

No, she had the confidence of a knight, of a hero, of someone who knew herself and stood by what she believed in. And that was something Regina had never known.

How had the blonde managed to do that, after everything that must have happened in her life?

How could she be, allow herself to be, so loved, and at the same time, so giving?

Emma followed the path that lead to the kitchen, automatically it seemed. It gave Regina an odd, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach, where all her emotions seemed to gather. If she didn't know any better she would call it yearning. It felt like her heart bled…

Had her loneliness finally managed to drive her insane?

Maybe that would explain her inability to communicate properly?

'Can I get you anything? I haven't made lunch yet but…'

Emma wheeled around to face her, her eyes now filled with an incredulous fire. The strangest thing, however, was the flash of disappointed hurt combined with cautious fear she saw in the turquoise.

'What are you playing at, Regina?'

Hoarse and hurt were the words drifting to her and she almost stumbled upon their impact.

'Wh… I… What do you mean?'

'Did you talk to Henry?'

'I? Sorry dear, what?'

It had been the tone in which Emma had asked the last question, urgently, demanding, and maybe it was the pain of its answer that made her stall the answer. The insecurity, that came with, somehow, not being able to protect her vulnurability the way she was used to, was quickly crumbling her.

'Did Henry come and talk to you, about that phonecall?'

Her hands were shaking now, the pain that flooded over her. She wanted to break something, wanted to throw a fireball at someone, wanted to, violently, Magic the blonde out of her house and into a dumpster, wanted say hurtful, hurtful things.

Instead, she turned around, hiding the trembling hands from view.

'I think you know perfectly well…'

The words got stuck in her throat and she tried again.

' He hasn't… He doesn't…'

Her voice broke, in an awful, quivery manner, and the sob that raged through her was unforgiving in its intensity. The absence of her son in her life had left a dull ache that sprang to life every time something triggered it. A comic-book in the supermarket, a toy left between the cushions on the couch, a glimpse from across the street.

And now it felt raw on Regina's skin, clawed up her throat as she tried to hide the tears streaming down her face from the woman who had taken him from her. Who she'd like to accuse of taking him from her. Because if she had been enough, if he had truly loved her, trusted her… Like Hansel and Gretel had their father, like Owen had his. If she had truly been his mother, it wouldn't have been possible to take him.

'Regina?'

The sheriff's voice sounded alarmed and came from far, far away.

She had never been enough, she knew. She couldn't even get her own mother to love her. Hadn't been able to grant the king the heir (and herself the child) he's wanted. She had failed at everything she had ever attempted in her life, from running away with her true love to redeeming herself. And it hurt… It hurt so incredibly much.

'Regina!?'

'What the hell is happening to me?'

Exasperated, hoarse and desperate was the sound of her voice, a sound she couldn't remember ever hearing before.

'I don't know… I really… I don't know…'

Emma's tone almost matched her own when the woman approached her, the earlier confidence nowhere in sight.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, to send that excruciating, terrible, gorgeous, amazing woman out of her house. She couldn't stand her proximity, couldn't stand her kindness, couldn't stand her understanding.

And most of all, she couldn't stand those warm, soft arms, that wrapped around her. She hated it, the way her cheek found the crook of Emma's neck, the way the rapid heartbeat soothed her, the way the hands, stroking her back, made her feel protected.

She hated the fact that she needed them, all those things she tried to tell herself she despised.

But the hated the most the treacherous organ in her chest, which couldn't be convinced to believe her mind's lies.

***…***

_Earlier that week:_

'Henry! We don't have an appointment do we?'

Dr Hopper's hoarse voice sounded surprised, but open when the boy wiggled past him and darted off to the dog that lay in the corner of the office.

'Hi Pongo! How is your foot? I brought you a snack!'

As he looked over to the dog's owner for permission, Archie found himself unable to do anything else than smile and shrug his approval.

Pongo loved Henry, his tail had already moved in enthusiasm since the moment the boy had entered and Dr Hopper sat down, patiently awaiting for Henry to disclose the real reason of his visit.

'He likes me again!'

The child's laughter filled the room when Pongo licked his face in gratitude for the dog-biscuit he had just received and Archie couldn't help but smile again, knowing instantly what Henry was referring to.

'He always liked you, Henry, he was just… He was in pain. I'm sure this is his way of telling you he is sorry.'

He watched them play a little longer, the expression on the boy's face telling him there was more he wished to discuss. They had spent many an hour in this very room, talking, and Archie knew they had formed a rare friendship, almost close to the one he had formed with another young boy many decades ago. He saw the struggle etched in the boy's features, but experience told him to wait.

'Does it work that way with humans too? When they are not in pain anymore they will want to make it up to you?'

Archie set up, his interest peaked.

'Maybe you should tell me what is on your mind?'

'It's my mom…'

It took him about 20 minutes to tell the story, complete with Emma's analogy with the thorn in Pongo's paw and Archie just sat there and listened to his young troubled friend, thinking of ways to help him. To help him understand the woman he so obviously loved.

Archie, carefully, spoke then, as a silence fell. He told Henry about when how, when someone loves another person, they give them the power to hurt them, even if that wasn't their intention. He gave examples and asked and answered questions, time flying by as the conversation never stopped flowing. When he started to explain things about protecting your own heart, and being so hurt it could make you afraid to let people in, about attacking those who could hurt you the most, those you love the most, he saw the question linger in the hazel eyes.

'But if you don't let anyone in, no-one will be able to heal it either. Right?'

And then, Archie knew the boy had understood and he beamed with pride.

'You see that very well, Henry. But sometimes, once a person is IN a situation, it's hard for them to see the things clearly. All they feel is the hurt and all they try is not to feel that anymore. Can you understand that?'

The boy nodded, slowly, his eyes narrowing in his eagerness to comprehend his adoptive mother's situation. With a sudden movement, Henry grabbed his backpack, startling the psychologist as well as his canine friend in his eagerness.

'Sorry!'

He blurted out the word as he saw their response, but the bright smile never left his face.

'What…?'

But before Archie could finish his question, Henry had already slid past him, thanking him in the process with a tight hug around the waist.

'Thank you, Dr Hopper! Operation Tweezers is going to work, I just know it will!'

And, like the whirlwind he was, the boy stormed off, leaving Dr Hopper wondering what in the name of the gods he had gotten himself into now.

...

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are the magic that makes my muse sing!


	3. Of Mirrors and Storybooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes one has to break down completely before the build up can begin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

Of mirrors and storybooks:

 

‘I…’

Regina wiped away the tears that remained on her cheeks and stared, for a moment, in horror at the stains she had left on Emma’s tanktop.

‘I am terribly sorry…’

That soft and (she might as well admit it) true statement made the blonde frown and Regina saw the question appear on her features even before it was spoken.

_What for?_

Because the answer to that question was one she had avoided for so long.

When she had seen her mother crush Daniel’s heart… Ever since the moment the feeling had washed over her as she cried in her pillow over losing him, she had tried to store it away, tried to direct it at others, tried to lash out.

The guilt.

For she knew he lost his life for one reason only.

Because she loved him.

And the pain of that had just been too much.

It had cut her, clawed at her, broken her. And the pieces out of which she had tried to build a person again were ragged and pointy and didn’t fit. And now, now she was falling apart once more.

In Emma Swan’s arms, no less.

Emma, the Sheriff, the savior… Who seemed to be everywhere. In her backyard, in her son’s life, in her nightmares. But also in fires, against angry mobs or wraiths. When it mattered the Sheriff was there.

Always…

Saving her despite all that she had done.

It was an accident, catching their image in the mirror and when her eyes met their reflection, she knew what would happen before she could control it.

The shattering glass made Emma jump, and surprisingly (or maybe not so, the savior indeed) she felt the arms around her once more as they crouched down, the pieces of mirror raining down on them. Or, more accurately, on Emma’s back.

‘Jezus Ffing Christ, Regina…’

...

‘Mom?’

The knock on the door caught them both by surprise, and Emma pulled away from her as if burned, leaving her cold and hurt and broken once more.

Her voice is broken as well, hoarse as if unused for weeks.

‘Your son is looking for you, Miss Swan.’

‘Mom?!’

They hear the desperation in his voice now, and their heads snap up in unison, their eyes meeting the way they had when the hospital had called them to tell them Henry was dying. The familiarity, the sharing of the fears of parenthood that Regina had had to miss for 10 years, came flooding back instantly.

Wordless communication was enough for Emma to rush through the door and pull it open, the scattered fragments of glass crushing under the soles of her boots. Reina wants to wave her hand, use the magic that has been building up inside of her, oozing off of Emma Swan, savior extraordinaire.  But she promised Henry she wouldn’t.

The loss of him, the ache of hearing him call another person ‘Mom’ is a dull throbbing in her chest, constantly present even in sleep. She hadn’t rested much lately, the catnaps in Henry’s room with his tear-soaked pillow clutched to her chest the only sleep she had allowed herself to succumb to.

Opening the door of the hall closet to get the broom she would need to sweep up the remains of the mess, she couldn’t help but wish that was what she could do with her life. Swallowing away newly forming tears she tried to focus on the manual labor, anything but let her eyes drift to the happy reunion of son and birthmother even though they must have seen each other earlier that day.

‘Mom!?’

The small arms that found her waist fit in the oddest way, restoring a small piece of the destruction that was her soul.  The head crashed against her abdomen knocked the wind out of her temporarily, and her hand, on its own accord, moved to hover above the untidy brown locks of her son, so eager to make the contact, so fearful that the moment she would, this would all disappear.

His voice was muffled as he asked the question, and she retracts her lingering hand immediately.

‘Did you do magic?’

It shouldn’t be surprising, the smell of it, sweet apples mixed with something foreign she can only determine as cinnamon, still lingers in its surprisingly soothing combination.

She felt her muscles contract, the knowledge that, with her answer, she will lose this gift, the son in her arms, once more. But she didn’t even consider lying, she just pleaded, her voice still hoarse and tainted with a sadness she had not intended for the boy to hear.

‘I… I think I did, Henry. But I didn’t mean to, I swear.’

He didn’t pull back his head, instead he snuggled closed against her and her hand now, shaking, found the top of his head.

She felt it then, the pull of them, and when she looked up she saw the emerald eyes glimmer with something she could only describe as tenderness.

The wordless communication was back again, stronger now, and she handed over the broom to the smiling blonde, leading her son away from the destruction of the hallway, his face still hiding in the silk of her blouse as she heard the sweeping sound behind her.

She wanted so much to crouch down, to take the boy she loved so much into her arms, to cup his cheeks in her hands and kiss his forehead, but he just kept on clinging to her, tightly, as they awkwardly made their way to the living room. They just kept on standing there, in the embrace she had craved for so long, and it was not until she felt the warm hand on her shoulder that she realized the time that must have passed.

She told herself she want coil away from the touch, but, bodily betrayal be damned, she sank into it immediately. And then, Henry finally looked up.

‘Henry!’

Their voices overlapped as they both uttered their shock by the means of their son’s name. His lip was split, a bruise forming on his right temple, a crooked smile, the perfect mix between shame and pride breaking through.

‘What happened?’

She heard herself demand it, but it didn’t sound as harsh as it once had, the breathlessness as her fingertips hovered over his injuries.

‘I got into a fight…’

The words came out reluctantly and he steals a glance at his adoptive mother before looking at his shoes again.

It laid on the tip of her tongue, the reprimand, even though a comment about violence not solving anything was probably an oddity coming from the woman once (and probably still) known as the Evil Queen. But before she could even truly contemplate the words forming themselves in her mind, Emma’s voice drifted towards them.

‘Was it something worth fighting for, champ?’

His grin widened then as his eyes lit up and he glanced at her with something she had, for a moment, trouble to grasp. Maybe it was because no one had looked at her like that since… Since she couldn’t even remember.

It was pride, glittering in his eyes, shining through in his voice.

‘They said my mom was the Evil Queen, but I…’

She didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as the world became a blur, the edges of her vision blackening, sounds reaching her only as if she is under water. It was not the redness she was used to, the flame of anger she had learned, so long ago, to use, to hold onto. The hatred she had let guide her all these years. No, this was heavy and almost gentle in its suffocation. The tear that fell from her eye left a mark on her cheek she could feel, like a cold trail. Her rasping breath hurt, as if every molecule of oxygen protested to enter her lungs.

Her son got hurt because of her.

Again.

And right then and there.

The blackness won.

…

‘Mom!’

‘Mom!’

‘Regina…’

It was tender and warm, and accompanied by the strangest little tickling sensation over her temporal bone. Her eyes snapped open to find the lingering fingertips stroking away a lock of dark hair before the green comes into view.

‘Woa, easy there.’

The velocity in which she had gotten up to the sitting position indeed might have been a little too much of a good thing. The dizziness that waved through her made her cling onto the arm that had been outstretched to her. She felt her fingers tingle at the contact with the strong forearm, the bright green eyes burning their way through her as if they could see to her very soul.

‘Why don’t you get your mom a glass of water, kid?’

Henry hurried off to do just that, and the words echoed through her. ‘Your mom.’ She felt it tug up the corners of her lips.

The hand, the palm, soft against her cheek, made her gasp and she could actually feel the turmoil of emotions, of desires for conflicting reactions cross her face.

The urge to pull back was so innate she actually felt herself submit to it before blinking, slowly.

She had once told Henry she didn’t know how to love very well, but suddenly, as she felt herself give in to the sensation of Emma’s hand, she allowed herself to doubt if that was the case. Maybe it was the being loved part that she was having problems with…

And maybe, just maybe, if she would let go of all these walls, all this pieces she was trying so hard to keep together, maybe things would finally start to fall into place. She was so tired of fighting.

All.

The.

Time.

The escaped locks were once again pushed behind her ear, and for a moment Regina allowed herself to be cared for, to be caressed, to be…

Well, some things were better left unsaid. And unthought.

‘Here, mom!’

‘Thank you, dear.’

The glass shook as she took it from him, but the hand that had only moments before been on her cheek caught it, enveloping her fingers in the process, making her shiver.

‘Not too fast…’

She trembled even more when she realized what Emma was doing. No one had ever actually helped her drink a beverage before and she found the different sensations utterly… _confusing_. The blonde’s fingers grazed the back of her neck, while her other hand kept supporting the glass. Some collected condensation formed a drop that stickled towards Regina’s wrist. She was pulled against the softness of the other woman’s breasts for support, feeling them rise and fall with every breathe…

She blushed as she felt her pulse quicken.

Maybe confusing hadn’t been the right word…

Maybe arousing was.

_Oh dear gods._

What was she doing? Her son was hurt and here she was thinking of… inappropriate activities… with Miss Emma Swan…

She felt the red on her cheeks burn deeper.

‘Miss… Emma? There is a first aid kid in the…’

‘Don’t worry, mom, I’ll get it…’

And he dartled off again, like a young puppydog unable to sit still. It reminded her so much of the time when he had lived with her that it ached in her chest.

‘Regina? How are you holding up in there?’

It was as if the turquoise cut through her, the small smile adorning Emma’s lips making her feel like the other woman knew exacty what she had just been thinking.

‘Miss…’

_Swan!_

They died in her throat, the words, the shield of protection she had automatically wanted to erect around her.

‘You can’t do it, can you?’

She only looks into the caring eyes, drowning in them, struggling to say something, ANYTHING, to make this pain go away. To at least hide it from those seeing, seeing eyes.

She knew it was true the moment it passed the blonde’s lips.

‘You can’t say it.’

The word fell from her lips then, when the sentence didn’t sound victorious or harsh, but only observant. And Regina saw she was understood.

‘Emma…’

* * *

 

_Earlier that week:_

Snow looked at her grandson’s twinkling eyes and smiled. There was so much of Emma in him. The glitter of childlike naughtiness, the observant glances, the curiosity. But there was a freedom in the boy that his mother lacked, a confidence and open, freely given kindness she had seen in another woman many years ago.

It shouldn’t be strange that Henry reminded her of this person, the brunette who had always had a special place in Snow’s heart. But it confused her, it confused her to see parts of the Regina she had thought to be disappeared in this beautiful child she cared for so much. Of course, there were the impeccable table manners and the way he could put his thoughts into words in a way that was far beyond his years that felt like it was _all_ his adoptive mother, but this innate _goodness_ that was inside of him, no matter how much Snow wanted to believe it was Charming shining through, she knew it was Regina.

Those dark eyes that haunted her dreams as they twinkled in happy introduction after making sure she wasn’t hurt by the bolting horse. The plea in them to understand, the explanation of true love, the begging not to tell Cora, to please not tell Cora.

She always woke up from her nightmare at the moment the secret spilled her lips. Her heart pounding with the guilt of knowledge… For it was her, her actions, that had made the beautiful innocent girl into an Evil Queen. And, no matter how she tried to rationalize it, she couldn’t deny it.

So when her grandson pleaded, his smile so eager and full of trust, so _familiar,_ Snow felt her heart wrench and doubted there was anything she wouldn’t do for him.

‘Please, Grams?

‘Alright, what is it you need?’

He pulled the storybook out of his ever-present backpack and smiled at her brightly when he began to explain.

…

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews sing to the muse!


	4. Of Good and Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Henry's wounds tended to and soothed, it is time for a new step in the operation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Magic comes with a price! Since my good friend giagr32 MAGICALLY made my internet connection work again from more that 3000 miles away, I am more than willing to pay by posting this chapter! Hope you will enjoy!

 

**Chapter 3: Of Good and Evil.**

He hadn't wanted her to use Magic, which was not surprising but it hurt nonetheless when her offer had been declined. Her hands had been shaking so much that, without a word, Emma had taken over the care for their son's injuries, leaving Regina with nothing left to do but observe.

A warm feeling had entered her heart when she had seen the blonde winch every time the stinging antiseptic touched his wounds and when an anxious glance was casted her way she had only had to make a gesture to allow the Sheriff to understand what would sooth him.

Watching Emma Swan gently blow air against ragged skin made Regina wish for multiple abrasions, which in turn allowed her to feel awful for having these inappropriate thoughts (again!).

The damage, fortunately, when the blood had been washed away, was less than she had thought. His lip had split (although she doubted it would leave a scar) and there would be some minor bruising around his temple, but she sighed in relieve to see there would be nothing that indicated permanent damage.

 _At least not visible_.

She wanted to ask the questions (Who, what, where, why?) but noticed Emma was already trying to coax them out of the boy, who was merely smiling mysteriously.

It made her heart wrench in conflicting emotions. Their interaction was endearing, but it also made perfectly clear how she was not needed anymore. Henry had found his mother and she had been replaced. Or maybe that was even too big a word. Maybe she had  _been_  the temporary replacement, never the real thing, as she had been in her marriage to Leopold.

She closed her eyes and averted them, trying to prevent the tears from falling when she felt the small hand slip in hers.

'Can you do it, mom?'

The smile that broke caused the tears to slip out and trickle down her cheeks. As she pulled him close and hummed the song she had always sung to him when he was hurt, not trusting her voice to utter the words, she let her fingertips hover over his skin, careful not to let her Magic escape.

She caught Emma's eyes staring at her, the hard swallow combined with a haunted look she couldn't quite place, but the woman turned and made a show of organizing the first aid kit again.

When the song was over and Henry had pulled himself loose to get something "really cool" he just " _had_  to show her" she saw him grab his wrist and turn the boy towards her as she crouched to be at eyelevel with him.

'Your mom is having some trouble today saying the things she wants to. Do you know something about that?'

Of all the questions she had suspected, this sure wasn't one and Regina found herself uncharacteristically blinking. (She also was quite sure the snap with which she had closed her mouth after her jaw dropping was much too audible.)

'Maahaaa.'

He hissed the whining sound, and despite herself Regina felt the corners of her mouth being tugged up when he glanced in her direction.

'This is an  _operation!_  I can't just  _skip steps!'_

And just like that he pulled himself loose and ran for his backpack.

The blonde rose, awkwardly.

'So… Yeah… I guess you ermmm…'

The former mayor's eyebrows rose.  _An operation?_  This was just too confusing.

'He's a lucky kid, you know.'

Breaking out of her reverie, Regina once again met the turquoise turmoil that were Emma Swan's eyes.

' To have you, I mean. You… you know this stuff. I… You have no idea what I would have given for a Mom like that. A Mom like you.'

Thoughts of operations immediately found their way to the back of her head when she saw Emma's struggle. With words, with emotions. And, as if on instinct, she stepped in and reached out, her palm softly caressing the other woman's shoulder.

'Thank you, Regina. Thank you for taking the kid and giving him what I couldn't… For being his Mom… Thank you…'

It was a whisper, hardly louder than the breath that caressed her face and yet it felt louder than anything anyone had ever said to her. She reached up and cupped Emma's cheek in her palm, feeling a tear find its way between her fingers and meander down the back of her hand. And she hoped that the words she couldn't find, the words that blurred her vision, heavied and lightened her heart, constricted her windpipe, she hoped Emma could read them in her eyes.

'Moms?'

They broke apart as if they had been strangling each other instead of…

_What actually?_

And suddenly Regina felt all her emotions collide in her chest. Disappointment over the loss of contact, endearment over the word her son had just uttered, gratitude for Emma's acknowledgement of her role in Henry's life, and something else that bound it all together, strong, thick and more powerful than her Magic had ever been.

_Love._

She felt the smile tug on her lips as she brought her gaze down to her son.

_Their son._

But it faltered slightly when she recognized the book he clutched to his chest, and she felt it extinguish completely when he looked at her with insecurity in his eyes.

She swallowed and sat, trying to pull her face into a smile again and utterly failing to do so. It was automatic, her need to build up the wall around her, and she felt the urge to say something hurtful about Emma's awkward stance forcing the woman to sit.

'Why don't we all sit down?'

_Of course!_

It burned on her tongue, like acid, the remark she had wanted to make and she shook her head to get rid of the cold feeling surrounding her, suffocating her.

But then, Emma's smile, vulnerable and genuine and grateful, floated her way and she felt the icy constriction waver.

'Mom… I… I brought you something.'

Her hand shook as she took the storybook from him, reluctant as if the untrue, or at least incomplete, stories would come out and bite her.

'Henry, I don't know what you want me…'

Her voice sounded hurt, not strict or even just plain inquiry and she saw him, her bright boy, connect the dots before she even could.

'No mom, this isn't the… It's for… Well…  _Your_  Story. Sort of…'

Her eyes grew wide as she looked down on the leather bound book in her hands.

Big letters in an old fashioned but familiar font formed the words 'Once upon a Time'. But they weren't bright gold as the ones on Henry's storybook had been. They were laced with a purple hue that reminded her of her Magic, and they seemed to move to meet her fingertips as she traced them.

'Open it?'

She obliged without even as much as a second thought.

_Mom,_

_I am so sorry for not seeing before how YOUR story was missing. I hope maybe, with the help of this book, you will tell me. (I know, I know, I can hear you say already 'You're too young, Henry' and 'It's complicated' but, you know, maybe one day?) I'm sorry that I called you the Evil Queen, I know that's not who you are, at least not anymore. Grandma says everyone deserves a second chance. Can this be mine?_

_Henry._

_Ps. Thank you for casting the curse, because without it, I wouldn't be here… And that would kind of suck._

_Pps. I love you._

'Oh, Henry…'

She pulled him close to her and couldn't help but smile brightly through her tears. Her heart ached, reading his heartfelt words, and Emma's bold influence shining through the language made her want to chuckle.

She looked up to the eyes she knew she would find, but was taken aback by the surprised question in them. Did Emma really not know what their son had been planning?

She moved the book so the blonde could read the words and she saw the answer to that question flash in the woman's amazed features while she did just that.

'Go to the next one, Mom!'

Allowing Emma to finish reading the dedication, Regina inhaled deeply, not having the slightest idea what to expect.

…

They tumbled through her vision, the tokens of gratitude left to her in writing. Some merely stated a 'Thank you for indoor plumbing and penicillin, I guess.' But others were heartfelt monologues about how she had affected lives,  _for the better._ Most were about the curse, she noticed. Some more personal, like the contributions from Kathryn, Red, Archie… But there were also entries about The Enchanted Forest. Granny wrote about the royal wedding, where Regina had insisted on giving food to the poor.  _Charming_ , of all people, actually  _thanked_ her for banishing Snow so he could find her. (She wanted to roll her eyes, but found them watery instead.) But some people, those who she knew had not been able to find anything to write about, were missing, not in the least the blonde who was reading over her shoulder, although that seemed to be for another reason.

'Why didn't you tell me about this, kid? I would have… You know… Written something, or whatever.'

Oh, how her tongue itched to let slide a remark about the excessive use of that last word and the way it made the blonde sound like a teenager, but she couldn't even fully form the thought.

'Don't they say stories don't mean anything unless you have someone to tell them to?'

He beamed at their astonished faces.

'Well, Mom, I knew you were going to say I was too young, so I just thought maybe, you know, you could tell your story to Emma…'

'Oooooookay.'

The blonde drew out the sound, as if buying time, and Regina couldn't blame her.

'Kid, what… why? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love this, and I bet your Mom does too, but you can't just go around and tell people to share their stories. What is this about?'

Regina allowed her fingertips to graze the words formed by the residents of Storybrooke, words on her behalf… She couldn't help but smile, bitter sweetly, as she realized the tug of her heart at the name that was missing. It was to be expected, and she would never allow herself to admit how much the lack of comment from this particular person actually hurt.

'Well… I thought that, you know, if she shared her story… You could, erm… Take out the thorn?'

Regina's deep brown eyes shot up, to meet her son's in puzzlement.

_Thorn?_

What was this about?

Emma, obviously more aware of what was going on, groaned.

'Oh, kid…'

'Would you please…?

_Be so kind as to tell me what the hell is going on, Miss Swan._

But then, small, warm hands were inside her own and the hazel eyes before her, so much like his birthmother's, twinkled in actual  _trust._

'Please, try it, Mom? Please? If you just share your story… I know it will help… Please?'

His eyes darted back to the book and hers followed, the pang of pain related to the person missing in the ocean of ink making her swallow.

'Please? I just… Mom, I want you to be happy…'

She gasped, she couldn't help it, and a single tear splashed on the parchment before she pushed the book forward.

_Hell no!_

'I suppose I could try…'

_What?_

'If Miss… Emma… Is willing…'

Her mind simply spluttered at those words, but she knew they were true the moment she had said it. She was terrified, but part of her  _wanted_  to tell the brave blonde the story of how a young girl only wanting to be good became an Evil Queen. She had just never allowed herself to admit it.

The bright smile on Henry's face made her heart jump and he turned and picked up his backpack once more.

'Wait… I've got it, where is it?'

He pulled out a single sheet of parchment and held it close to his chest, as he had done with the storybook.

'You know, we didn't want you to tear out any pages of the book in case you… Erm… You know… Didn't like it or anything… But erm… Someone kind of already wrote a piece of your story… Just so that maybe, you know, you could have a place to start if you sorta didn't know how to… So… Yeah, it's in there. And this is kind of like… You know… The… Well, just read it. You can paste it in there if you want. Or not…'

His insecurity was only exceeded by his hope when he extended his hand, carefully handing her the piece of paper.

Which, she knew the instant she recognized the handwriting, was so much more than just that.

_Regina,_

_I think a lot of people will agree that the biggest influence in my life, has always been you. They will say you taught me the hard lessons. The ones about hate and pain and loss and revenge._

_But what they don't know is how you also were the one to teach me about goodness, about true love, about trust and about sacrifice. Or, Regina, that you taught me everything that makes me the person that I've become. The one who taught and gave me everything I needed to find my happy ending._

_I used to believe that it was my mother who had shown me the difference between the right choice and the wrong one. I think it took me 28 years as Mary Margaret to figure it out, to not be just Snow and blinded by everything happening between us. I needed to be shocked back to life, look inside my heart and inside the mirror, to see it was_ _**you** _ _who showed me what the world was truly about._

_Because it was you who argued father, when he planned the ball to look for suitors for my hand. It was you who banished me from the castle, allowing me to see the life of people beyond the protective royal walls. It was you whose life I ruined by taking the worst decision in mine. You who I heard crying every night you spend as my father's wife._

_People call me 'Good' and they call you 'Evil' and they don't see what I see every day, every night in my dreams. That the good in you only was diminished by the evil in me._

_I can only hope now, you will let me, (and you did make me a teacher in this realm, so blame only yourself) teach_ _**you** _ _something._

_The secret in a story lies not in the words that are printed, but in those that are not._

_Your story has always been hidden, by many, not least of all myself. I was sometimes unaware, sometimes ashamed and sometimes simply careless, and for that I truly apologize. I am done trying to hide the worst part of me. Maybe you can be done hiding the best part of you._

_Because there is something (and I know this is not something you want to hear, least of all from me) that you have to see about yourself, Regina._

_And that is that you want to remain hidden. You want to hide under the covers of leather, behind words like 'Evil'. Because it makes sure that no one ever comes close enough to hurt you again._

_Henry told me you said to him you don't know how to love very well._

_Regina, you're wrong._

_You know it better than anyone and if I knew you wouldn't fry me up with a fireball the moment I tried, I would take you by the shoulders and shake you to see it._

_Because you love so true, and so deeply, it scares you._

_And it makes you blind to see how loved you really are._

_Stop hiding, Regina._

_Tell your story and teach us, teach us all the things I know lie in your heart._

_And give yourself and others the chance to make it hurt a little less._

_**Snow**_

_P.s. Maybe this is a start._

_P.p.s. I'm sorry._

_P.p.p.s. I… Never mind._

'Oh, dear…'

The parchment slipped from her fingers, sliding under the table as she felt herself fall back into the pillows of the couch, dizziness slipping in, in the form of dark edges in her vision.

'Breathe, Regina, breathe…'

And for the first time in many decades, she did.

…

_***Earlier that week.***_

He laughed. He actually laughed and it had been a long time since he had felt so gleeful. He supposed he had the boy to thank for that. He heard the sound of his laughter turn into the giggle that was his trademark as he pushed the storybook back over the counter.

'No!'

'But, Mr. Gold, you know her, like, the longest!'

He pressed out one last chuckle before he took his cane, leaning on it heavily as he made his way towards the child.

'Yes, my boy, and that is why I know this will never work. Regina is so guarded, she will never allow herself to truly enjoy your gift, see it for what it is. She will never allow herself to believe that people can see the good in her. That was the perfect part in creating her, you see, Henry? She needs so much to be loved, but you will never get her to let her defenses down long enough to actually let them.'

'Creating her!?'

The same words were uttered by two separate mouths and he almost lost his balance as he turned, Belle's beautiful eyes ablaze with rage.

'Belle! I… I didn't know you were…'

He stepped towards her, the cane suddenly a burden instead of helpful as he stumbled over it in his haste to reach the woman he loved. She shook her head as the disappointment he had seen linger in her eyes before take permanent residence there. Her accent, foreign and oh so lovely, stronger than ever when she softly spoke the words that were, indeed, his undoing.

'No, that was clear. I have heard enough.'

He, speechless, watched on as she tugged the storybook under her arm and took the boy by the hand, flashing him a fierce look before slamming the door behind her, sending the little bell above it in a frantic overdrive.

He just stood there.

Realizing there was nothing left to laugh about.

...

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are magical


	5. Room to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thorn exposed, but not yet extracted Regina is thrown into a raging turmoil of ache, yet there is also something oddly liberating about the absence of her thick, thick walls... While her protection is down, someone tries to look out for her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A-N1: So sorry for the wait... This one gave me (and the muse) headache and beyond... Hope you'll enjoy nonetheless!
> 
> A-N2: I do not own the song mentioned in this chapter

 

**Chapter 4. Room to breathe.**

It was utterly unnerving and odd, yet it changed everything. The letters of the story Snow had written, the story of their meeting, so long ago, after a child had been rescued from a bolting horse, swam in the tears she couldn’t stop from filling her eyes. Because the woman had not  _justified_  her actions, she had not hid behind age or manipulating witches. And somehow,  _that_  made all the difference. Somehow, in the strangest way, _that_ made the words come alive,  _that_  made her see what she had known already for the longest time. The anger she had held onto, in fear she would crumble if she would let go, seeping out of her as water would through cupped hands. Because the words that were not written, or perhaps the fact that they were not, made her heart feel their truth.

And when she traced the ink with her fingertips, allowing the words to sink in, the apology hidden and yet screaming at her from the pages, she felt how, indeed, something broke. But it was not her soul or even her heart. It was the most comparable, perhaps, to something she remembered from her youth. The tight corsets her mother had forced on her on numerous balls, before the king had noticed her for absolutely different reasons than the size of her waist. The feeling of constriction, of not being able to breathe and then the marvelous relief when the strings were opened (sometimes cut with sharp knives close and cold to her skin) at the end of the long nights, freeing her from the baleen prison. It felt now like some of those strings had snapped, allowing her to sharply inhale and make up for a dizzying lack of oxygen.

She wasn’t sure what was keeping her from falling apart, but was quite sure it had something to do with a lingering hand, grazing her back, her shoulder, sometimes covering hers and squeezing it. It grounded her, its soft warmth, pulling her back out of the memories that tumbled through her mind and heart in, what seemed, a race for her attention. But she could hardly grasp one and focus, a fact she was quite grateful for at the moment, the darkness of some a turmoil she could have so easily gotten lost in. But that  _hand_ , the caressing body part which in an odd combination of hesitance and determination kept finding her, was the lifeline she needed to dare give in to Henry’s wish to open up.

She glanced up, finding those impossibly turquoise eyes, the glitter of a careful smile within them, focused on her and wondered why she wasn’t up in arms, fighting the idea of anyone, Emma Swan most of all, seeing her like this. Wondered why she it didn’t bother her more that she was not. The constant fighting, for every breathe she took, was exhausting, but it was what she knew. How was it possible that she had suddenly been able to shed that heavy load off of her shoulder? The importance of keeping up appearances, something  torturing corsets, restricting vines, a reigning husband and a very controlling mother had taught her, seemed suddenly more of a burden than a protection. But letting go of everything she had clung onto for so long, could not be so easy now, could it?

…

It was a humming, melodic and somehow familiar, that pulled her out of her reverie and the sight of Emma, looking up at her and smiling sheepishly while handing her the glass of iced tea the blonde must have prepared, made her stomach jump and swirl in the oddest way.

‘Which song  _is_  that?’

The blush immediately jumped to the other woman’s cheeks, making her look absolutely adorable (did she really just think _that_?) and the turquoise eyes, which had moments before met hers without any reservation now darted away, making it impossible to catch them.

‘I… ermm… Just a little something that got in my head, you know, while I read Henry’s message to you.’

The blonde gestured awkwardly to the now closed book, obviously trying to avoid the question, which made Regina smile in a way she could actually  _feel_  in her gut, making her realize how long ago it had been that she had allowed a smile to pass the boundaries of her lips and extend to her eyes, to her heart.

She took a sip of the surprisingly tasteful beverage in her hand, astonishing herself by uttering a delighted moan and blushing at the unexpected sound. She was grateful the blonde chose to ignore it, or maybe she could even say the woman tried to protect her from the need to feel embarrassed by blurting out the sentence.

‘My life would suck without you!’

She blinked, her lips parting, making her, without doubt, look extremely unladylike.

‘I… What?’

‘The song, you know…’

She hummed the melody again, allowing herself to fall into the couch cushions next to the brunette, offering her that self-conscious smile once more before singing the words she had just spoken, her voice much purer than Regina had ever anticipated.

‘I just… You know… Argggh damn, I am so bad at this! What I’m trying to say is, if I would have gotten a chance to write something… I… Hell, well it would! I mean, do you see me in a Princess-dress, Regina? That _would_  kinda suck!’

She cringed slightly at the odd sense of humor, not able to avoid thinking about what would have been had she never cast the curse. How Emma would have had to grow up parent-less, not have to carry the scars of growing up in the system. She looked at the blonde, feeling the incredulous pain radiating from her eyes.

‘You don’t see it, do you? You never know what would have happened if you hadn’t created Storybrooke, Regina. Maybe Snow would have been trampled by a effin’ ogre or something, or, with my luck, I would have caught some sort of iffy fairytale-flu as a kid and kicked the bucket. The one thing I do know is that if you had not brought everyone here, there would never be a Henry. And I would never be sitting here with you, trying to explain my really weird taste in music…’

The hand covered hers and squeezed it, the smile now changed, slight around the lips but ever so present in the twinkling turquoise she couldn’t look away from.

‘So, what I’m trying to say is, “My life would suck without you…”’

The words swirled up, very much like the corners of her lips and where she knew she would have, only a day ago, done everything in her power to keep them in, right now she couldn’t even contemplate doing so, which made her feel so free, the sheer force of it brought dizziness.

‘Likewise, Emma.’

Turquoise eyes widened and brightened, as if their owner received a gift consisting of those two small words lingering in the space between them. But the fire in them flickered and extinguished as fast as it had risen. Emma’s hand hovered in the air in what seemed an attempt to stroke back a lock of escaped, brown hair, but the careful approach was abruptly halted by the woman jerking back, panic raging in the swirling bluish color.

‘Regina? Listen… I know you told the kid you would do this, and please, don’t get me wrong, I…’

The skittish eyes found hers in a silent but genuine plea before quickly being averted again.

‘You don’t  _have to_  do this… I… Henry… I think… Oh hell!’

‘Just breathe, dear.’

‘Well I you heard him about this operation thing, and I think he did something. I think he Magicked something to make you more… Arghhh how do I say this?’

_Being more ineloquent would actually be considered an art-form._

‘Do you have any idea how endearing it is when you stumble through your words like that?’

It took her a moment of taking in Emma Swan’s astonished features to realize her slip-up.

_Endearing? Annoying!_

But it wasn’t… It had never been annoying. It had always cut through her and pushed her,  _affected_ her. But what had caused the sharpness in her reactions had always ever been caused by her own response, the impossible and painful yearning in her heart, the surfacing of her  _feelings_  for her son’s birthmother.

_Wait… What?_

The ringing of the doorbell, echoing through the house louder than she could ever remember the sound being, made her jump up and back, realizing how much her heart was pulled in exactly the opposite direction. Things she had never admitted,  _least of all_ to herself, surfaced when the rhythm of that treacherous organ changed at the moment her eyes met Emma’s.

_Oh my gods…_

It felt terribly odd and yet, in an amazing way, it made everything fall into place. Was it really possible all those feelings, all those fears and all that passion had collided into that one word her heart was screaming now?

The all too familiar sound she has missed for much too long, of Henry almost tumbling down the stairs in his haste to get the door, made her smile despite herself. But when she, trembling with the force of the strange realization, averted her eyes again, her heart and smile faltered at the sight of the most unlikely couple ever to set foot on her porch.

They seemed to be leaving actually, the man almost angry in his movements. She probably imagined being able to hear the staccato of his cane meeting stone as he glanced to the woman beside him, who stood determined and firm, smiling over her shoulder to the person at the door (Henry?). When blue eyes found the form of the man who was her true love, however, they radiated a contempt she had never seen in the girl who had been her prisoner for many years.

A voice she would always recognize drifted to her from the hallway and she shivered at the emotions, attacking her with the force of lightning. She saw, as through a haze, Emma’s concerned glance, but couldn’t focus on it. It was a classical case of: too much, too soon and yet she couldn’t help but want to _cherish_  this odd vulnerability she was experiencing now. Because no matter how it hurt, it was preferable over the empty haze she had allowed herself to drift into in Henry’s absence, preferable over the cold, tormented anger she had hold onto for much too long. It ached, sharply and yet this ache, which she could taste on the tip of her tongue, made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t for… as long as she could remember.

Because even with Daniel, there had always been the reservations. The fear of her mother finding out, the urge to keep hidden. She had never experienced freedom, always the prisoner. Of her mother, her tutor, her husband, fate. But most of all… of her own fears _._

‘Henry, no! Oh sweety, you can’t just expect that she will want to see me just because… It’s too complicated, really, she won’t just  _not_  hate me because she read…’

Her feet had carried her past the savior, to the source of the sound, the owner of the familiar voice, whose back is now turned to her as she takes Henry’s bag in her hands.

‘Actually, I never truly did, dear.’

The words exited at the exact moment she knew them to be true and the woman turned around, an odd seashell-shaped object in hand, with a jump that would have satisfied her immensely only a day before. But the hazel eyes, first radiating shock and slight fear quickly seemed to adjust and widen.

‘Regina?’

The question was careful and hesitant, almost like a child reluctant to believe a lost friend has, indeed, returned. And oddly, maybe that was _exactly_  the case. Because she saw it, mirrored in Snow’s eyes, the recognition of the woman she had been, once upon a time. And with that recognition came the hope she thought she’d lost, forever.

…

She stared at the object in her hand, while Emma was busy in the kitchen, doing the-gods-know-what while hopefully not touching any of the electrical equipment and she felt something ripple through her at the unfamiliar sounds. A longing that made her tremble with such intensity, the shell almost slipped through her fingers to shatter on the floor. The sense of  _his_  Magic on it, resonating against her palm, almost made her want to allow it to do just  _that_ , but something, peaked, morbid curiosity perhaps or simple cowardice, made her cling onto the ridged seashell as if the object was the answer to everything…

Which, maybe, it was.

‘Hey…’

‘Emma!’

The name tumbled off of her lips as she jumped, much as the blonde’s mother had done only moments before while picking up Henry. Their brief interaction had been awkward, to say the least. She had felt the place in her abdomen where her usual sharp comments came from, swirl in overdrive as she had simply stood there, face to face to  _Snow White_. Thank the gods, Emma had chosen that moment to actually  _fuss_  over both her mother and their son, something Regina had never seen her do and was quite sure had as only purpose to pull attention away from  _her._  There had been a moment, however, after the enthusiastic hug Henry had gifted her with, that her eyes had caught the hazel ones once more. The woman had lingered in the doorway and, perhaps much like in the story she had written, what had been left unsaid resounded loudest through her soul. Because she saw in the hazel the words that last post scriptum had not dared to speak and knew, at exactly  _that_  moment that that same emotion still coursed through her own veins.

Words of gratitude and maybe even of the almost painful warmth behind her sternum had laid on the tip of her tongue when the woman she had once considered her archenemy had risen her hand and smiled, knowingly, before quickly making her exit.

She sighed at the thought, knowing that if she was honest, which today she couldn’t seem to avoid being, she had to admit that she  _herself_ had always been her own biggest enemy.

Because it was  _her_  who hadn’t been decisive enough to stand up to her controlling mother until it had been too late. It had been  _her_  who had chosen to crush the woman’s heart in devastation of losing the last sliver of hope to bring back Daniel. It had been  _her_  who’d cowardly chosen resent over love, when it had been offered to her by the Fairy who had saved her.

‘Holy hell, Regina!’

Looking up at the sound of Emma’s amazed outcry, she caught a glimpse of projected images, flashing before her, her younger self slipping off of the balcony after her aggressive attack of the railing only to be captured by Tinkerbell’s Magic just in time. The seashell in her hand was the source of the flickering pictures which accompanied her memories and she placed the offensive object quickly on the coffee table, stepping away from it as if it had burned her.

‘What the actual fuck?’

‘My sentiments exactly, dear…’

A quiver, never before in her voice, vibrated though her and she closed her eyes, trying to control the emotions rushing through her about what she had just seen. Had her eyes flickered with disappointment when she had been rescued? Had she, honestly,  _wanted_  to fall?

‘Regina…’

Worry and care swirled in turquoise eyes and she  _wanted_ so much for them to be genuine, despite the fact she did not, what so ever,  _deserve_  such kindness and she took a step closer to the other woman. She was somehow drawn, much like a wanderer in the desert when finding water. Quite sure it was a Fata Morgana rather than the promised oasis and still not able to refuse feet to travel to the one thing craved above all others.

‘I…’

A hand went up with Emma’s hesitant start of her sentence, something, Regina was quite sure of it, she would never have been able to resist making a comment about, effectively hiding her own feelings and crushing the sliver of confident left in her… opponent? But, had she ever allowed herself to see anyone as anything different? As perhaps, an ally? Or maybe, even more?

‘I talked to Henry before and erm… Well he wouldn’t really tell me, but I’m kinda sure this is some sort of wish thing?’

‘A wish  _thing?’_

‘Yeah, Regina you know, the whole blowing out a candle, falling star, fairy dust, Enchanted Forest bullshit?’

As she cringed involuntarily at the forceful tone the blonde wielded and stepped back, she saw Emma’s features immediately soften.

‘Ah shit, sorry I’m just… This Magic stuff, I don’t know how to deal with it. And you… You’re not yourself and I don’t want you to do things, _say_ things you will regret just because Henry poofed away your…’

The hesitation at the end of the sentence was painfully clear. And despite the ache that clawed at her throat radiating from her chest, she found herself carefully approaching the savior yet again. But where she had meant to make her voice drip with condescending sarcasm, she found that this time it were not the words but the tone that was changed to one of self-loathing vulnerability.

‘My ‘bitchiness’, dear?’

The blonde looked up in alarm, now herself taking the last step to cross the distance between them, her hand hovering in the air before aimlessly being dropped to the side.

‘Your  _defenses!_  And I just… I don’t… Regina I don’t want to take advantage…’

Turquoise eyes now pleaded before her, to understand, or maybe rather, to not  _misunderstand_. She saw something there she hadn’t even known she needed, and yet when she did everything fell into place. Emma Swan wanted to protect her, now that she herself could not…

Suddenly the earlier spoken words were starting to connect. Could it indeed be that Henry (or anyone?) had wished (or cursed?) her protective walls away? But with what purpose? To hurt or to help? What would the consequences be of her telling, or… she glanced at the seashell at the thought…  _showing_  Emma the story of her past?

She looked down for the slightest moment, the hand that had hovered so close to her shoulder before being withdrawn still purposelessly dangling at its owner’s side.

A hand so strong and capable… A hand that had once cut her apple tree, had drawn blood, had pulled her son away from her. But also one that had grasped her in a fire, pushed her out of a wraith’s way and today, with careful caresses, had grounded her.

And before the panic could fully overwhelm her, she remembered the feeling of being freed from the corset, the breath she took incredibly liberating as it filled her with the truth of the thought.

If she was safe  _anywhere_ , it was with this woman…

She looked up and found the beautiful, swirling color she’d started to associate with the blonde dart away from her in avoidance. She reached out, her fingers enveloping the wrist, effectively forcing turquoise eyes to meet her own.

She felt the Magic pulsate against her palm, rushing from her fingertips to merge with the bluish hue Emma’s wrist radiated at the place where skin met skin.

She waited until she had the blonde’s full attention, her eyes as earnest and trusting as her words.

‘You may not want to take advantage, Emma. But maybe  _I_ do.’

Confusion was replaced by understanding as Emma’s eyes widened before narrowing slightly.

‘Are you sure?’

If she had not been, the question would have made her. Her hand travelled to her chest, feeling her ribcage move freely as she inhaled. She smiled, quivery, while letting the breathe escape in one word.

‘Yes.’

…

_Approximately 36 hours before:_

‘You never wanted to help her anyway! You’re supposed to be good, but you’re nothing but a liar, you lied to Snow about the wardrobe and now you’re lying to me about the wish! I… DON’T… BELIEVE… YOU!’

The boy turned around, anger spitting from his words and features and moments before stoic eyes grew wide as she felt the ache, weakening her wings when the last words vibrated through them.

‘Henry, I assure you, I am not trying to tell you what to do with your wish, which, I have to warn you, might come true, but not free. I am merely pointing out that many people have tried to help your mother and, well, I also have to say that _all_  of them have failed.’

‘Maybe the question is, Blue… Were  _you_  ever one of them? Or did you just hide in the shadows and watch others fail?’

A voice, now almost oddly distorted in its confidence where it otherwise was always laced with apologizing hesitance, made its way to her as its owner stepped from the shadows just mentioned, her brown eyes sparkling with an anger Reul Ghorm had never seen in the woman before.

‘Or did you even  _make_  them fail, as you did, so efficiently, with _my_  plans? You say Fairies live on believe, Blue, but maybe you have to face that you have put yours in the wrong  _things_ , the wrong  _people_ and the wrong _side_. And maybe just a little  _too much_  in yourself. Henry is right. You have never cared for what was truly  _good._  You’ve only cared for what was good for  _you.’_

_‘Astrid!’_

‘My name is  _Nova_ , Blue. I am a Fairy who is in love with a Dwarf. I am clumsy and odd but my heart knows what is right… Henry  _will_  get his wish. Free of charge! _’_

Nova held out the sparkling powder in her hand making the other Fairy gasp, but as she reached for the wand she knew would help her prevent the insubordinate woman to carry out her plan, she felt the Magical Item escape from her grasp and make its way to Nova’s free hand.

The woman awkwardly caught the wand, almost spilling the precious dust in the process, her brown eyes widening when it sparkled in a hue of strong Magic at the moment it touched her skin.

The boy also watched in awe while the powerful piece of enchanted wood changed of owner, his hazel eyes glittering as he smiled to the incompetent, undeserving, poor excuse for a Fairy. But as Reul Ghorm tried to step forward, she was pushed back by something far more ancient. Something suffocating and raw that made her tremble.

‘The error of one’s ways is one of the hardest one to see, Blue…’

The kind smile Nova offered seemed odd in combination with the ache ripping her apart, but somehow  _did_  provide some of the intended comfort.

‘But it is  _my_  wish that you do, so you can soften the hardness that has found its way in your heart. I  _do_  believe you’re worth my wish, Reul Ghorm, because I do believe that once you’ll see, you will agree with everything I am about to do…’

Swirling Magic surrounded her as she started to see the images of herself as a young Fairy, not agreeing with the decisions made by her superior, her heart aching as she had glanced down at the turmoil people seemed to create without guidance… Sinking back into her visualized memories, she heard the words come from afar, their meaning lost as their sound only just reached her.

‘Now, Henry, let’s see about that wish…’

…

 

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A-N: Regina's turmoil was hard to write this chapter... Without her usual walls the thorn is exposed, yet not yet extracted. Very curious to read what you think!


	6. Exposing The Thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Regina shows a part of herself not many people are aware of, she is afraid of Emma's reaction. An unexpected turn of events makes that reaction the start of a path to a difficult decision. Earlier that day in the supermarket, another chain of events is starting its course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took an enormous amount of time to update! Apologies! Hope you enjoy nonetheless!
> 
> This chapter contains parts of Regina's past. Hence darkness warnings.

 

Chapter 5: Exposing the Thorn

 

She reached out to it and gingerly let her fingers graze the ragged surface of the seashell. Or, it wasn’t as much a shell as it was a fossil. She imagined she could still feel life beneath its star-shaped imprint, although perhaps it was just the Magic humming through. The Magic she had recognized the moment the object had met her palm, given to her by the woman she had considered her enemy all these years. The woman who, she now realized, perhaps knew her better and had given her more chances than anyone else in the world. The unspoken words that had lingered between her and Snow, as the awkward exchange of Henry and politeness had taken place, had resounded in her heart so loud she was quite sure she would have uttered them, had Emma not chosen that moment to speak. She was also quite sure that those had been the words she had seen linger in Snow’s light eyes every time they’d   locked with hers and the ones she could read in the post scriptum of the letter she had reread more times than she cared to admit and which was now pasted into the book Henry had presented her with.

As thoughts of love and forgiveness filled her and merged with the repelling sensation Rumple’s Magic always evoked in her, she felt her thoughts drift back to the moment she felt had defined her life. Not, as so many people would think, the death of Daniel, but her attempt to no longer hate her mother for the act of killing him. The choice to blame a girl instead, who had learned and spilled a secret, who she had trusted but who had betrayed her. Her mother had only done what she had thought was right. But her heart had never truly forgiven the woman who had simply and without the slightest show of remorse crushed her hopes and dreams in the palm of her hand. It had just been so much easier to think she had. To direct her rage at Snow White, the child who had so badly wanted a mother, she had appointed Regina to a life of misery and hell.   

She had thought to maybe free herself of the pain the anger caused her. Of the strength of it, rising like bile, in the back of her throat. She had tried by pushing her mother out of her life, to another realm. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so she had thought. But out of mind certainly did not seem to mean out of  _heart_ , as she had still found so much pain trying to claw its way out of that organ, oozing and leaving stains of ache all throughout her body. And still it was easier to feel it flow out of her the moment she laid eyes on that innocent-looking little girl, who went through life without a seeming care in the world, who had everything going for her and everyone waiting on her hand and foot, who anyone seemed to so effortlessly love.  To, when she laid in that bed, her own fingernails desperately puncturing the skin of her palms, always failing in their attempt to block out any of her other senses with the pain, to then not think about how much her mother had wanted her to be the queen, but how Snow, so adamantly, had chosen her to replace her mother and condemned her, to  _this_. To, when he whispered the name of his deceased wife in her ear at the moment he filled her with his juices, trying to make the servants –and thus the realm- believe he was attempting to produce a male heir, not think it was her mother who has created the potion that would leave her barren for all her days, but that it was because of Snow White that the King had requested, or more aptly said  _demanded,_  the precaution to be taken in the first place.

She trembled as she watched the images, formed by her thoughts, project themselves on her living room wall. Stared at them, the sight of the enchanted forest so odd on the plaster, unable to blink. She saw herself save Snow, embrace her mother, rush to Daniel’s limply falling form. She watched how she drank the potion, her mother’s palm covering her neck and the golden cup pressed against her lips and cringed at the moment the struggle turned into obedience, not by a forceful hand, but by Cora’s softly spoken words about being unable to love her if she wasn’t mommy’s good little girl. She looked on as her lips parted without hesitation, her soul thirstily drinking in the threat posing as a promise. Her eyes glazed over as she saw him approach the bed, her eyes innocent, fear glimmering in them and she closed them, her heart dropping in a sickening way and yet still unable to prevent the memory from forming. And maybe even unwilling.

Because although it made her tremble, somehow, holding the vibrant fossil in her hand, she felt some of her pain flow through, (and in the oddest way,  _out of)_ the object. It was as if with every memory, some of the tension built up in her shoulders, in her rigid back and mostly around her heart, trying to keep the shattered pieces in place, found its release.

But what she had least anticipated on was the fear, clawing in her stomach. The urge to open her eyes and glance aside, gauge the reaction of the woman who sat to her right. The inability to do so, simply because she was paralyzed by the whirling feeling under her ribcage. She was not sure what she was more afraid to find. Disgust or pity. Biting her lip in an attempt to control the feeling that seeped into (or out of, she wasn’t entirely sure) her heart, imagining the discomfort of the blonde, judgment or disbelieve painting the turquoise eyes, it suddenly hit her. What would be worst. What she really was afraid of.

The memory of the empty, indifferent eyes of her mother forced itself up on her and she immediately pushed the shell away from her, certain of the image that would follow but uncertain if it would transfer to the white wall the other pictures had been shown on. But it was not the fear or even the image of those turquoise eyes, cold and lifeless, that caused her own to shoot open. It was not even the pain the shot through her, knowing that was the only reaction she honestly deserved. Because no matter what had happened to her, what she had done in reaction to it had been a million times worse. It was a sound, so soft she would have missed it had the silence not been so heavy, had she not been as tuned in, had she not blocked out her vision by closing her eyes, heightening her other senses.

She wasn’t sure if it was a gasp or a swallow, or the way Emma’s breath seemed to halt in the back of her throat, but her eyelids shot up in response to the sound so fast, she had no time to think it through. Blonde hair hid the woman’s face, the turquoise she had thought to find, concealed by the golden curtain. She was unsure if it had been her sudden movement as she’d glanced aside, or the fact the projections of images had stopped but she thought she saw Emma’s shoulders tense up, her breathing halt yet again. And as the air escaped from her own numb lips, she felt her hope flow out with it. Because Emma, she knew, was hiding from  _her._ And the only reason she could think of for that, confirmed the burning fear in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing herself up violently was the only way she could stop herself from reaching out and let her fingertips caress the locks. It would be the means to avoid the confirmation of the plummeting feeling of her heart once she would see those turquoise eyes. So then why did her hand linger over the couch cushion before making its way up? Why did her heart race in this particular manner when she touched the silky curls and slowly, in what she could no differently describe than a  _tender_  movement, brushed them back? She almost moaned when her fingertips met soft skin and she lost herself momentarily in the sensation of it, as she slid the golden mane behind Emma’s ear. She thought she heard the woman gasp, but the humming, deafening sound of her own heartbeat, one she usually heard when about to faint, prevented her from being sure. Looking up she noticed what she had aimed to find was hidden in shadows, her hand betraying her once more by letting her fingers trail down and gently cup the woman’s cheek in the palm of her hand, finally finding the turquoise treasure she was hunting.

And finding  _in_  it, two things she’d never anticipated. Her hand almost dropped in shock, but Magic, or perhaps the semi-magical substance they called super-glue in this realm, seemed to keep the body part in place as their eyes locked. Emma’s glittering like emeralds in the unexpected welling tears, but filled with something that went beyond anything she ever could have dreamt up. Her heart lurched, in a forward movement, as if wanting to reach this woman, this woman with these hellish eyes, giving her everything she had never known she wanted so desperately. Everything she felt spread through her chest the moment Emma looked at her… Looked  _through_  her…  _Saw_  her. It swirled and she could not determine whether she was warm or cold, incredibly happy or terribly sad, for all emotions seemed to attack her all at once at the moment she knew what truly was laying behind the tears.

A real, true understanding, laced with the pain of experience she didn’t want to see but couldn’t possibly deny.

This wasn’t pity. Or the halfhearted sympathy of a person who had not seen the deep darkness life can throw at you. She could see it, in the turquoise, in the swallow, in the biting of that soft, pink lower lip. She could feel it, when her hand was covered and slowly squeezed. Heard it in the gentle uttering of her name. And it took her breath away in the most amazing way. Because she wanted to take it in and she wanted to take it away at the same time. She wanted to relish and to protect. She  wanted to withdraw and to draw near.

The contradictive feelings collided and merged as she watched Emma Swan look at her,  _see_  her. And the word to describe the strong emotion that hit her, lingered over her. But before she could pluck up the courage to grasp it, something in the eyes before her changed. They unlocked from hers and looked away and she was unsure if the object they fell upon was a mere coincidence. Especially when the warm hand covering hers slid away and the woman turned towards the shell, allowing Regina’s own hand to slip away from the smooth skin and drop, together with her heart.

…

‘Would you care for a beverage, Miss…’

It had been meant to come out all sharp and cold, not hoarse and shivery as it did. And the eyes that had only moments before left her shot back as she, this time successfully, pushed herself up. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t speak the woman’s last name, the word that had, so condescendingly trying to keep her distance, left her mouth so many times before. And when the fingers gently enveloped her wrist, it was replaced by the word which had, during those times, rang through her heart and had been suppressed. The name she’d woken up whispering so many mornings, relishing that forbidden moment of time where reality still was blurry due to lingering dreams. As the blonde pulled her back and gently turned her around, it fell from her lips as if it was the most natural thing to say.

‘Emma…’

‘Regina.’

Never had she heard her name spoken like  _that_ , so softly and filled with something she couldn’t quite place but which tickled her ribcage and heavied her heart in the most delicious manner. The blonde had risen and stood close to her. And even though Emma wasn’t touching her, apart from the hovering fingers around her wrist, even though they had been in closer proximity many times before, Regina felt how her body melted into the moment. She could smell the fruity scent of what she thought to be shampoo, feel the caressed skin prickle, as Emma’s thumb made a pattern on the inside of her wrist, sense the energy that filled the narrow space between them, crackling in its intensity as she felt her gaze drop to pink lips.

 Her free hand trembled  in an attempt to stop the upwards movement, musclememory of years, decades really, of suppression guiding her until she realized she did not want to suppress. She wanted to reach… To touch… To  _kiss._

But as she took the step nearer she so desperately craved, turquoise eyes broke away from hers and Emma took a step back. It was odd how cold the rush of slightly moving air felt as the blonde turned away from her and the breath that halted in her throat was accompanied by a constricting feeling she could not seem to swallow away. Through a haze she heard Emma mutter something about making it right and she felt the jolty feeling rush through her shoulders before she felt the tears on her cheeks.

She turned, needing all her power and strength to fulfill the motion and for the first time she fully saw what had been happening to her today as a curse. For even when it had left her vulnerable in the eyes of the blonde, her son and the woman who had once been her stepchild, somewhere deep inside her a cord of freedom had been struck. But now, now that she felt her heart squeeze with the pain of rejection. (For she had been sure she had seen a flicker of interest in the turquoise, before a cold realization had taken its place. And it wasn’t very hard to figure out what exactly Emma had realized that made her turn away… Or should she say  _who_  she had realized to be with.)  Now that the organ had risen before falling, she remembered. She remembered what it felt like to be open, to breathe, but she also remembered what it felt like to be hurt. Something she had not allowed herself to feel the extend of for so many years.

She remembered the moment so vividly, when Emma Swan had entered her life and in one short moment had made her fear and walls rise by the means of Henry’s way of presenting her as his ‘real’ mother. And then the question. The question she had known the answer to, so fiercely in her heart, but showing this woman, clad in red leather, about the extent of the love that brought her such weakness had not been something she’d been able to bring herself to do. She had tried to calculate, to suppress the urge to lie and protect her son, (since those Regina loved always seemed to end up in a less than favorable position, if not by her mother’s then by her own hand) tried to find the perfect answer that would manipulate the blonde who her instinct had told her was endangering them.

But she had been wrong, as always she had been lying to herself. A self preserving witch, even more so then when she had had her Magic. Because it was she herself, who had endangered Henry. From the moment she had allowed him in her life, her ever-destructing love making him a victim of deceit, of pain and of the misery that seemed to surround her touch. Why had she not just allowed herself to see the danger of caring for someone yet again? Of allowing that weakness to creep its way back into her life?

The moment the thoughts entered her mind she felt the selfishness of her decisions weigh on her. But she also knew she was not merely referring to Henry. She knew her heart, swelling so profoundly it felt like it constricted her airway, was also pulled to the woman it could not possibly be pulled to. The woman who, by any means, should be her nemesis… The daughter of the woman who had betrayed her, the mother of the son she loved more than anything.

And yet, here she was, trembling in defeat because Emma Swan would not look her in the eye. She could not,  _would_  not allow herself to show more vulnerability. But no matter how hard she fought it, she felt the urge to turn getting stronger, the urge to let the name tumble from her lips once more. Probably followed by a question, a begging for something she could never possibly have, but could not stop to crave.

But just as she spoke the name that meant so much more than the sequence of letters, it was drowned out by another pronunciation of the same word, spoken coldly and condescendingly, making her turn back sharper as she recognized the voice.

Emma retracted her hand from the seashell she had been touching and as if in a dream, which she wasn’t sure to call sweet or horrid, Regina saw herself reach out and envelop the woman’s wrist, much like the woman had done with hers only just before. Although a tender shiver went through her at the moment of the touch, she took no time to think, simply pulling the blonde behind her in an intuitive  attempt to protect her from the man whose voice resounded through her living room and whose form seemed to rise from the touched fossil.

‘Emma Swan, the savior indeed. It is  _ironic_ , is it not, Regina, dearie?’

His giggle made the hairs on the back of her head stand as she fought the urge to respond, not just because she didn’t want to give Rumple the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her by this mere vision, but also because she knew the snide remark would not be able to pass her lips and she was fairly unsure what would. How did she feel about the man who had threatened and manipulated her, but also had been the only one to give her a sense of worth at a moment she so desperately was seeking it?

‘You have proven yourself the White Knight of the fairytale, just as my Belle said you would, Miss Swan. Perhaps it should not surprise me so, she has a knack for seeing through people, as does your boy. But that you share such a delicate trait, Savior… Well, Regina, if you would be quite yourself today, I think you’d be the first to agree with me that is not something one would easily think of the Sheriff. But you, Emma, have proven your intentions selfless and honorable, or this vision would not appear. Unlocking the secrets I have spend a lot of time and effort in protecting is not something that any Tom, Dick or Emma could accomplish. Yes, your son has quite a faith in you… In each of you I might say. For I don’t know, Regina, what his plans are, but this vision will only appear by the touch of a very strong and ancient Magic and the only way to evoke said touch was for you to be the first to. For you to open up and release something I have made sure for many years, would never be unleashed. For you to share your story.

A promise made obliges me to tell you, however, your story is incomplete. And when Miss Swan here, so generously decided to show you her own heartwrenching story. When she decided she wanted to share, to repay the gift of trust in kind, she has given you the key to, finally, fully know what influences have played a role in your destiny. 

The question is, Regina… Do you have the courage to face it?’

He smirked at her, the tone and intention behind the words clear and so many times heard before. And although she knew he was manipulating her with it, once more she had no idea which road he actually tried to force her to take. What he actually  _wanted_  her to do… And the mere thought of trying to let go of that he might want and decide for herself made her head swim.

Once, she might have considered herself a strong woman. In the time she had felt loved by Daniel, she had felt a strength rise from deep within, she had even, for the shortest time, tried to defy her mother, which had had the most destructive of consequences. And after that she had found something inside her she had called strength, yet at this moment was quite certain was actually the opposite. It felt like her ideas of strength and weakness were scrambled, as the eggs Henry cared for so much at breakfast time. For when she had fought for what she believed in, refusing to, first, learn Magic and later as she had given into it, use her acquired skills to crush a heart, life had shown her that what she had thought her strength, her conscience and her thoughts on what was right and what was wrong, her ability to love, was actually her weakness. And now, in a swirling, pounding feeling in her chest, it felt like everything shifted once more. Had the mask of coldness, the impenetrable walls she had build around her, not allowing anyone, not even the son she loved with all her heart, a glimpse of what was inside, hid every weakness she ever possessed, or were they actually the weakness?

The vast amount of contradictive thoughts and questions dazzled her, as the image continued to stare at her. The vision so much like the real man that she felt the familiar shiver run through her. A shiver she had suppressed so many years it had become second nature to do so, but which now made her tremble. His gesture had been clear. All she had to do was touch the shell once more and all would be revealed.

She closed her eyes and felt the swirling in her heart settle, the whirling of the compass needle carefully slow down. It was a feeling in her gut, not unlike the place where normally her sarcastic remarks came from, not quite conscious, but yet in a way, awfully clear in its directions once you allowed yourself to see. To be guided by it. But even though the place and the sensation had something familiar, something seemed quite different as well. As if the compass needle had always pointed south and now found its way to its true destiny, 180 degrees in the opposite direction. And it felt, as she opened her eyes, as if something was restored.

For when she looked into turquoise eyes, she knew what to do. And she knew why.

Not for vengeance on a girl, nor because of love lost, or to defy an enemy.

But simply… Because it was what she wanted.

…

_Earlier that day:_

 

He watched her from a distance, as he kinda had been used to do since he met her… The first  _and_  second time, now that he thought about it and that made the near-constant frown on his face do the upsidedown-thing people kept nagging him about. Leroy quickly looked around if anyone had seen the start of a smile, knowing that if any of his friends had caught it, he would never hear the end of it. But with Doc forgetting his glasses, Happy joking with Dopey and Sneezy constantly… well… sneezing, who had time to pay him any mind at all? Rolling his eyes in a practiced movement he looked back at the woman he admired from afar at the moment. Not because he had to anymore… He could walk upto her, stand next to her at the fruitstand and wrap his arm around her if he wished, he knew she would welcome him. But it wasn’t the rainbow of assorted fruits falling as soon as the beautiful fairy approached them (very much like, he would never admit out loud to anyone other than maybe Nova, he had fallen for her) that kept him from getting nearer.

He had learned many years ago that seeing things was far easier if being overlooked (something pretty  easy for a dwarf). His grumpiness might give the impression he wasn’t interested in the world around him, but he had not always been Grumpy. Once upon a time he had been Dreamy and there was one thing of each of those approaches on life that merged and found its way into a trait people (or drawfs) wouldn’t soon pin on him. He was observational, knew what someone needed and wanted, sometimes even  _felt_ , before they themselves did. And then, most of the time, he had learned to just shrug and allow them and himself to simply carry on their business. But at times, for example when Snow had taken the forgetting potion or when Astrid, still cursed, had needed his help with the candles, that particular part of him became so strong he felt like he had no other choice than to act on it. And, although in the end both of those endeavors had turned out ok, he had, and still did, feel like that was not thanks to him. The failing in his attempts made him reluctant to try again, but what he could not stop to do, no matter how hard he tried, was to  _see._ To see the scenes play out before they happened. To see the hidden fears and reasons behind peoples actions. To see what they actually wanted to do, meant to say but were afraid to.

It was one of the reasons for himself, he knew, to wear his grumpiness on his sleeve (and pickaxe). When he had refused the part of himself that wasn’t ‘supposed’  to be, when he had not gone to meet Nova and sailed on the path their hearts had set out for them, he had decided to deny all parts of himself that had to do with feelings. As much as he could not avoid to ultimately have them, or his little quirk of observation, he sure as hell could choose not to act on them.

Right?

He looked again at the boy who had sneaked away from his grandmother. The real reason he had not approached the woman who now, in an endearing, smile-inducing, surprised jump sends some oranges flying around when Henry touched her forearm. Maybe it was the way the boy was moving, a sentimental pang in his heart as he was reminded of Stealthy. Maybe it was the way his hazel eyes reminded him of Snow’s. How she had looked at him and smiled a smile extending to them, genuinely wishing him well as he escaped that cellar. Maybe it was the hope, the same one he had seen in Snow’s eyes when he had freed her, he now heard in the urgent whispers when Nova knelt down to be level with the kid. The image shot an inexplicable and terrifying view into his head about a family he had not fully admitted himself to want just yet.   

Even though Astrid seemed to try and keep her ‘fairy business’ away from him, he had been well aware of the change in her as well as of the plan, ever since the moment Henry had brought over the book. He had seen the worried and determined look follow each other in the eyes of the woman he loved more than anything in the world. So maybe he just wanted her to succeed.

That must be it. Because he sure as hell couldn’t want to help the woman who he had been aware of the moment she had come in, the one who had spend a lifetime (or two) trying to kill his best friend now, could he?  No matter how much he sometimes couldn’t help but notice the pain in her eyes, the glimpse of something, someone else, underneath the mask of coldness, no matter how sometimes he suspected she too had been a ‘Dreamy’  once, he could not believe, or admit to himself, that the actions he took now were to prevent her from being hurt. But an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach made him feel like, despite the fact that there were multiple other reasons, and others to protect, he was kinda lying to himself there.

He had seen her enter, noticed the regal way in which she had taken out the piece of paper he was quite sure she didn’t need, as if instead of a grocerylist it contained a royal statement. He had seen through the way she had pulled back her shoulders and pushed the reading glasses up on the bridge of her nose. And it was not hard to figure out the effect it would have on her to catch sight of the boy who was so obviously hiding from her, not at all for the reason her mind would automatically and immediately assume. Ignoring the pang in his gut he utterly denied to himself that when he took the step to block her path, as well as the kid from view, it had anything to do with her.

‘Careful there, sister.’

His voice sounded sharp and provocative, and he ground his teeth together as she looked at him over the rim of her glasses in the usual, disdained way he knew would be followed by a harsh remark.

‘Had we been related, Dwarf, not only would you have had a chance to inherit at least reasonable looks, any evidence pointing in that direction would have been… eliminated.’

The tone in which the last word was spoken did not leave any doubt on how that elimination would have taken place. But as she moved to push the cart past him, he stepped in front of it again.

‘Had we been related, Witch, you might have had a chance to actually inherit a heart…’

He had been about to say more, but he saw the flicker in her eyes, the small step she took backwards which she hid by taking a box of cereal he knew she’d never eat and place it in her cart. He braced himself for the response he knew would come as soon as she had balanced herself. But this time he had calculated wrong.

‘If you’ll excuse me.’

She swallowed as she made her way past him and Leroy just looked back just quick enough to see Henry slip away. Nova’s attempted caring gesture of fussing his hair sending a cascade of red apples rolling through the aisle. Had Regina seen him? He closed his eyes as that thought gave away the one reason for his actions he did not want to admit, but opened them again to see Regina brush off Nova’s helping hand as she almost tumbled, making what looked like applecider outta the squished apples on the floor with those ridiculously high heels she was wearing. He thought he saw a glimpse of wood in Nova’s hand and was sure he felt the rush of Magic as a spark accompanied the movement of the fairies hand as she, seemingly jittery, helped the once Evil Queen dust off her jacket. Or… Dust on? He recognized the smell of it when he caught her beautiful eyes, the woman he wasn’t supposed to love, but couldn’t help but do. A smell he had known, it felt, all of his life.

And as he saw the twinkle in Astrid’s eyes, following the regal woman out of the door before looking back to him in knowledge and gratitude, a smile playing around her lips as she approached, something inside of him shifted.

Maybe taking action was not so bad. Maybe it was not so bad at all…

And with that thought running through his mind he took her outstretched hand and smiled.  

…

TBC

...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are MAGICAL!

**Author's Note:**

> Ps: Reviews are like magic!


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